Snow on Our Skin
by Claudia3
Summary: Severus and Hermione's friendship develops through several winters. Chapter 1 edited, Chapter 2 new.
1. One: Christmas

Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns it all, I just borrow without meaning any harm.  
  
Rated: G  
  
Response to the Getting to Know You Challenge on WIKTT. Vignette 1: Christmas; required item: a 'mini'-sized parcel or bag; required phrase: 'Did you reduce that, or is it really that small?'; set in Hermione's seventh year.  
  
Snow on Our Skin  
  
by Claudia  
  
One  
  
Christmas  
  
The first snowflakes of this winter were drifting lazily out of a white sky. They settled immediately without melting, promising a soft, white-bluish glittering cover for the drab greyish countryside. The air in his lungs was chilly. In the past few days - and nights, of course - the temperature had dropped radically to a two-digit below zero centigrade region.   
  
So this was Christmas in the wizarding world. Felix Flitwick had started putting up Christmas trees and decorations in the Great Hall this morning, eagerly aided by students and Hagrid. The house-elves were probably already preparing the Yule feast, the day after which the Hogwarts express took the children south. By Saturday morning, the school would be almost empty. It was not that Severus preferred the school without the children; to say quite on the contrary would have been a lie, though. The empty corridors, halls, staircases, and Great Hall were so solemn and cool in the absence of almost everyone that Severus preferred the solitude of his rooms, just as he did when the school was humming with life. Well, work had to be done, lazy dinners with the staff were certainly a highlight, and then there was his long-expected trip to the seaside.  
  
Busy even then, Severus loved the relaxed business of the Christmas holidays. He wrapped his heavy woollen scarf tighter around his neck and put on his leather gloves. He could see his breath hanging in small clouds in front of his face, disturbing the fall of the snowflakes. Then he walked down the road to Hogsmeade, from where he would Apparate to Diagon Alley. He had a few errands to run and shopping to do. Of course he could have relied on an owl-order service, but today he felt rather more haptic. And he only had a vague idea of what he wanted to get, so browsing and leafing through books was necessary. He just hoped that Flourish and Blotts wasn't too busy today.  
  
***  
  
By the time Hermione finally made it to Flourish and Blotts, Diagon Alley was already covered in a wonderful blanket of snow that crunched divinely beneath her boots. The Christmas decorations reflected the light of the candles and torches that lit wizarding London's busy shopping street. People were particularly friendly and in that special festive mood that made shopping exceptionally enjoyable.  
  
However, the visit with Flourish and Blotts was her treat of the day. She had already done some shopping in Muggle London for her family and pen pals. As soon as she entered The Leaky Cauldron she had reduced her bags to a size that fit her book-bag. Presents for Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Neville were added to in the course of the afternoon, and despite the shrinking spell her bag was almost bursting at its seams.  
  
Hermione smiled. There was nothing like the smell of bookshops, but Flourish and Blotts was special. Its warmth came from safe fireplaces, and the air was heavy with the scent of books old and new, and heavenly aromas were wafting through the whole shop from the cooking section. It was a bibliophile's dream: books were stacked more or less orderly on shelves, tables, stairs, and the floor. Deep, comfortable armchairs invited to relax and browse. Most of all it was warm.  
  
Her parents and her Nana had given her some money to spend on wizarding books. Her Muggle presents she would receive personally; unlike Harry and Ron she spent all her Christmases at home with her family. It was a rather unpopular decision when it came to her friends, but Hermione insisted that if she stayed at Hogwarts ten months a year, then she at least wanted to be at home for Christmas.  
  
At Flourish and Blotts, she found it always hard to find a place to start, even when she knew what she wanted or had a list of recommended reading. There was a book on the theory of magic paintings she wanted to take a look at. She didn't paint, but the book-jacket promised a guide to put magic into non-magical artwork. On her wish list was a copy of a contemporary Scottish artist's book, and she hoped to breathe even more life into his narrative paintings. Then there were several wizarding novels she had been meaning to read: nothing of the likes of cheap romance some of her friends preferred, though, but classics and winners of the Quill Quiescent Prize. Oh, and she wanted to have a look at the annotated version of iThe Glossary of Standard Potions for N.E.W.T.s-Candidates/i and its Arithmancy equivalent.  
  
Having decided to start with the former, Hermione stood totally engrossed in the Potions section, browsing said glossary. It did not quite keep what the ads promised, so she was merely flicking through it, soon losing interest. She was just putting it back on a relatively high pile of more copies of this book, when books suddenly went crashing onto the floor, and something hit her in the back with a dull thud. Her knee hit the edge of a low table before she fell.  
  
***  
  
"Miss Granger?" Severus Snape was gently holding her by the chin when Hermione regained her senses. She coloured when she realised who was addressing her.  
  
"I'm all right," she said, rather more brusquely than intended. However, she accepted Snape's proffered hand and let him pull her to her feet.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"The ladder broke, it was an accident. My apologies."  
  
Hermione looked at him, the heat in her face cooling.  
  
"I'm not going to blame it on you, Miss Granger," Severus added. He certainly was not. The accident had scared him enough, and his ankle was starting to throb angrily with pain. Merlin knows what could have happened.  
  
Just then an assistant appeared, alerted by the noise. He was shocked, concern clearly written in his face. Severus straightened, glad that someone took over. "Good Heavens, professor! Are you all right? And you, Miss ...?"  
  
"Granger. I'm fine, thanks."  
  
"You ought to check the other ladders lest someone breaks their neck," Severus said coldly, back in full reprimand-mood as if the assistant were one of his students.  
  
"Of course we will, sir. Are you all right?" He was fidgeting nervously. Other customers were craning their necks to see what the noise and subsequent fuss was all about.  
  
"I think so."  
  
"Well, um," the assistant began, "why don't you go to Fortescue's for tea - on the house?"  
  
Severus was staring coldly at the hapless clerk; rather cruelly, Hermione found. Quite surprisingly, too, come to think of it, what with his courteousness towards herself. "That is a very generous offer, sir, thank you," she replied sweetly.  
  
The clerk heaved a visible if not audible sigh of relief and shuffled off.  
  
"Which were yours, Miss Granger?" Severus found being practical safer right then. Together they bent to retrieve the books they wanted to buy. Several potions books went onto Severus's pile, naturally, but there were clearly errands for other staff, wizarding fiction, and a cook book. Hermione was picking this last item up and looked at it amazedly.  
  
"I didn't know you enjoyed cooking," was past her lips before she knew what she was saying. Too late she realised that the volume might as well be for someone else.  
  
"Why wouldn't I?" Severus replied dryly. "May I?"  
  
Hermione dropped the book into his outstretched hand. Piedmont's cuisine was mouth-watering, but she would never have guessed the wizard's hobby, which was little wonder. Teachers and students, especially in a strained relationship as this, did not know much about each other.  
  
"You certainly are not serious about buying this book, are you?" He was referring to iThe Glossary of Standard Potions for N.E.W.T.s-Candidates/i.  
  
"No." They were both surprised at the disgust in her voice.  
  
"You could always come and ..." Severus stopped himself. It seemed not only Miss Granger was speaking before thinking. "Why don't we discuss this at Fortescue's?"  
  
***  
  
Hermione could hardly believe his being serious about it, but a couple of minutes later they were having tea at Fortescue's.  
  
"You are a very dedicated student, Miss Granger," Severus began, spooning sugar into his tea. "If you are interested in Potions beyond the curriculum I shall be delighted to assist you. What are your plans for after the N.E.W.T.s.?"  
  
There it was again, this most-dreaded of all questions. It was not because Hermione had no plans for her life after school, quite on the contrary, she just hated this most condescending of all questions you could be asked at this age. Strangely enough, coming from Snape, it was not so condescending. Apparently, he was really interested in her.  
  
"I'll study Potions and Arithmancy." She spread some strawberry jam on her scone.  
  
"Quite naturally. As I said, you can always ask me regarding the best books about Potions."  
  
Silence, not really awkward, ensued.  
  
"Funny how you called me a silly girl in first grade," Hermione mused, and sipped at her tea.  
  
"Indeed." Severus studied the butter smears on his knife. "It was the very first lesson, if I recall correctly."  
  
Hermione nodded.  
  
"What did you expect? Lemon drops?"  
  
Hermione smiled. "A chance. I expected a chance, still do, as a matter of fact." iJust like any other Hogwarts student/i, she added silently.  
  
Severus remained silent. "You're getting your chance now."  
  
"Fine, what about the others? Neville, for example?"  
  
"Oh please!" he drawled. "He's just not made for the subtle art and science that is potion-making."  
  
"Yes, he is."  
  
A typically raised eyebrow.  
  
"Just give him a chance to work without pressure. Neville manages quite well when he works on his own," Hermione explained calmly.  
  
"He's not copying it off Potter's scribbling or anybody else's?"  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
That was the first time Severus Snape did not have a reply.  
  
Hermione looked at her watch. "Oh, is it that late already! I'm sorry, professor, but I'll have to go. I'm meeting Parvati Patil for Apparating to Hogwarts, and I'm almost late."  
  
"Well, then," Severus finished his tea. "I won't keep you."  
  
Hermione took her satchel and stood, not really knowing what to say. She had not fastened the lid of her satchel properly, so one of the Muggle bags slipped out. Its contents spilled onto the seat of her chair and the floor. Severus helped to pick up three smallish cubes from the warm seat of her chair. "Don't forget these."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Pray tell, did you reduce them, or are they really that small?" he asked curiously as she put them back into her bag. This time fastened the lid extra carefully.  
  
She had meant to tell him it was no business of his, but because of the genuine amusement and interest in his voice, she said: "They are that small; watercolour containers usually are." And true it was. She had bought for Dean Thomas three of those ridiculously expensive pots of watercolour which were hardly a thimbleful.  
  
"Ah, I see. Well then."  
  
"Merry Christmas, professor. And thanks for your offer."  
  
And off she was.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Hermione Granger."  
  
__ 


	2. Two: Reunion

Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns it all, I just borrow without meaning any harm.  
  
Rated: G  
  
Response to the Getting to Know You Challenge on WIKTT. Vignette 2: Reunion; required item: an escaped beastie of Hagrid's; required phrase: 'Old age doesn't necessarily mean wisdom.'; set five years after Hermione's graduation.  
  
Snow on Our Skin  
  
by Claudia  
  
Two  
  
Reunion  
  
Dumbledore had sent the school's sleighs to pick up the alumni who arrived at Hogsmeade station that crystal clear winter day. It was the day before New Year's Eve, and as always, the biggest wizarding community was covered in a deep, harsh and fluffy layer of snow that weighed down heavily the boughs of the trees and glittered bluish in the cold rays of the winter sun. The world was asleep, nothing disturbed the silence.  
  
The school was nearly deserted at this time of year, with most of the students gone home for the holidays. This left ample space to accommodate an entire year of former Hogwarts students. Most of them stayed the night only, but a few had sent word they would like to spend a couple of days at the castle.  
  
It had been five years since the graduation of Hermione Granger, and she had accepted the invitation gladly, had even confirmed her stay in a personal card with season's greetings to the Potions Master. Throughout the years, they had kept in touch, on a basis regular enough not having to fill pages with empty words. It had all started out with a rather formal letter of thanks from Hermione's side. Professor Snape had offered her almost full access to his library in her last summer term, and thus had helped her to absorb more knowledge than necessary for her N.E.W.T.s. They then had started to discuss new books as well as scientific articles, and Severus - he had insisted on dropping the formalities in her second year at university - had proved very supportive in her studies. Somehow, though, they had never managed to find a time and place for a reunion.   
  
For the first time in ages, Severus had decided against withdrawing to the Snape family cottage for the holidays, and stayed at the school. While he was not exactly standing on the stairs to the Great Hall to welcome the alumni, he yet expected the arrival of the sleighs with some anticipation. He wasn't especially happy about Albus' meddling with his affairs, now that he no longer worked as a spy. He had a feeling that Albus put too much into his friendship with Hermione, for it was merely that, a wonderful friendship, nothing more and nothing less. But then again, old age didn't necessarily mean wisdom.  
  
Severus had gone for a walk in the dry wintry cold that led him to Hogsmeade and back again, where he had picked up something he had ordered at Quills and Quartos. He was following the tracks of the sleighs back up to the castle, when he heard the jingling of bells and the voices and laughter of people - not of children, but of adults. Severus stepped aside to let the sleighs pass, and he could make out a couple of familiar faces among the muffled-up travellers. There were the Patil sisters, of course, and the round face of Longbottom, Malfoy of course, and Susan Bones. He could see the Thestrals, but Hermione he could not spot.  
  
A sinking feeling spread in his stomach, and he was glad he had pulled up the hood of his greatcoat against the cold. He knew he wasn't exactly everybody's favourite teacher, and somehow he didn't want to be the first person they saw upon returning to their former school. He just hadn't seen her yet, that was all. She had written to him that she would come, and that she was looking forward to it, and to seeing him.  
  
Suddenly, Severus realised how much meeting her meant to him. She was one of the few good friends he had, and outside the school in particular, and he had been looking forward to discussing so much with her during her stay, discussing and showing her things as was only possible when you meet in person.  
  
He quickened his steps, following the sleighs. When he finally reached the main entrance, house-elves were unloading the luggage, and Hagrid was fussing over the Thestrals. Tenebrus, Hagrid's favourite, seemed agitated for some reason. He was a tad fatter than the other beasts, if fat was what you could call a skinny bag of bones. Hagrid had him by a fork of his breast harness and was stroking his scaly coat with the other hand; Tenebrus was beating his wings in agitation, and stomping his massive hooves.  
  
"What's wrong with him?" Severus asked, keeping a good distance to any of the beasts. It was sad enough that he was able to see them at all, the proof for Death's existence.  
  
Hagrid took a moment to reply. He hadn't much to do with the Potions Master, and the civil question was unusual. "Dunno, professor. Bu' th'air smells of a storm comin'."  
  
Severus cast a glance heavenward. Indeed, a dark wall of clouds was building up against the darker outline of the mountains in the quickly settling dusk. "Indeed. Well, take care," Severus replied, pushed back the hood, and entered the shelter of the ancient walls. The memory of Tenebrus' escape at a quite similar occasion the other year was still rather vivid, obliviating and misinforming Muggles, endless hours spent searching out in the cold. It seemed then as if Hagrid had forgotten about the Thestral's matchless sense of direction. Anyway.  
  
Instead of going straight to the Great Hall, he returned to his rooms in the Slytherin wing to put away his coat and the books he had picked up at Quills and Quartos. When he looked out of the window, he found that the dark clouds had gathered even more quickly than expected, and that snow was already falling. A stiff breeze had picked up and whirled the flakes around in angry gusts and eddies. He had just made it back in time.  
  
When he entered the Great Hall, it was as noisy as ever, but luckily, the noise was not as high-pitched with the voices of children, but a little duller, with many a male baritone and bass adding body to the sound.  
  
Most of his former students he recognised; five years was simply not a long enough time for young people to change much. Some of the young women he had to look at twice to be absolutely sure. It was interesting to see that people were mingling, and not grouping according to their Houses. It was always like this - at least Dumbledore had told him so.  
  
As always, people made space for him as he walked through the Great Hall, but some even smiled, or nodded in greeting, or even held out a hand to shake. Severus hadn't expected this at all. At first, he felt out of place and reacted stiffly, but when he realised that the alumni's attention was sincere, he lightened up a bit.  
  
"Oh, Professor, sorry." A man straightened his cane, and his round face radiated embarrassment and self-confidence; an odd mixture.  
  
"Mr Longbottom," Severus nodded. He had nearly tripped over the younger man's cane. Longbottom had suffered a severe knee injury at the end of the war, and had to rely on a cane ever since. Hermione had asked him, Severus, to give Longbottom a chance to work without pressure, and he had done so. Longbottom had done quite well in the final Potions exam. Auror school must have been out of the question. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm all right."  
  
"Good, good," Severus nodded. He wanted to ask several questions, but he didn't know how, and when the situation became awkward, he continued on his way through the crowd. Hermione must be here somewhere.  
  
In the end, Hermione hadn't turned up. No one had seen or heard anything of her, and the bad weather conditions didn't allow for owl-post. Severus was torn somewhere between anger and concern. She had promised to come, and it was not like her not to turn up, or even not to tell him what was wrong.  
  
Something must have happened. He excused himself from the party, even with a welcoming drink being served. He was barely out the door, leaving amused alumni in his wake, when he literally ran into Hermione Granger. They stood in a tight embrace for a beat or two, until Hermione had regained secure footing.  
  
"Hello, Severus." She beamed at him, her cheeks red from the cold, but flushed at the same time from the walk through the snowstorm. The snow on her cloak was melting away quickly in the relative warmth of the hall, and small puddles began to build around her boots. A house-elf appeared out of thin air to take care of her heavy holdall, which had shaken off the shrinking spell as it fell onto the flagstones.  
  
"Hermione Granger," he replied, stepping back to allow for some private space. "We've been wondering about your whereabouts."  
  
"Oh, that," Hermione coloured a little more, if that was even possible. "I missed the train because of the London traffic. So I had to Apparate."  
  
"In that weather?" Severus did a bad job hiding his concern. There was no place for respect, since he considered Apparating in a snowstorm nothing short of foolhardy. Still the typical Gryffindor.  
  
"Ah, Miss Granger!" Minerva McGonagall had noticed her arrival. "How nice to see you again! Do come in, dear, you most be frozen! Really, Severus, to keep her out there in the cold. Come, have some tea." And with that, Minerva ushered Hermione into the warmth and light of the Great Hall, there to meet her year - or what was left of it. Some had been not so lucky to survive the final battle against Voldemort with a stiff knee, as Longbottom had. And their names were in the air, of course, and deservedly so. Even in his afterlife, Potter managed to draw all attention on his person.  
  
But this was not the time to be bitter about him. In fact, their working together in the Order had taught both of them the one or the other thing about camaraderie. Severus sighed. It had been foolish of him to assume that he would be the only one to look forward to Miss Granger's arrival. Thank goodness for her extended stay at the school. That left plenty of time to catch up.  
  
Then he returned to the Great Hall, accepted a glass of champagne someone pushed into his unoccupied hands, and toasted the N.E.W.T.s candidates of five years ago.  
  
~*~  
  
Neville Longbottom had never really warmed to Potions, but he was well-versed enough in the field to make an excellent apothecary - much to the pride of his grandmother. He held and excellent position with St Mungo's. Every now and then, he published an article in the Herbology section of The Tempest, which Severus read with great interest.  
  
He also followed the work of Dean Thomas, whom Hermione had bought those ridiculously small colour-pots. He was a freelance artist, working for various wizarding publishers, including the major newspapers and magazines.  
  
Ron Weasley was a colleague of his, holding a position in the sports editor's office of The Daily Prophet. What else was there to say? His coverage of the Quidditch league was acceptable enough.  
  
And Hermione Granger, the star of this particular Gryffindor year. He knew her better than any other of the students he had ever taught. She was researching Potions with the Ministry, but he knew that she wasn't quite happy with her work, and hadn't been for quite some time. But for plans there had been no time yet. Maybe they got a chance to talk about it in the days to come.  
  
Most surprising of all, however, was the development in Draco Malfoy's life. He had inherited his father's estate and fortune, but other than Lucius, he put his money and political influence to good use, maybe in atonement for the faults of his father - and his own, if you could call them that; he had been but a spoiled brat, full to the brim with stupid propaganda.  
  
Although Severus was interested in what had become of this particular year, he found it difficult to engage in small talk. It was by some considered a subtle art, but it was beyond him why anyone would find asking directly and offering information no one wanted to hear subtle. Subtlety was an art, but not in this kind of conversation. So he took to wandering from group to group, overhearing chats, or listening from time to time.  
  
That night, he didn't have another chance to talk to Hermione - and even if, he doubted that they would have found the quiet really to talk, without any interruptions and distraction. Or at least that was what he was thinking when he returned to his rooms, having excused himself as soon as common courtesy allowed.  
  
He had just poured himself a drink and had taken off his cravat and collar, when it knocked on his door. He opened the door on Hermione.  
  
"Hello," she said.  
  
"Hermione."  
  
"I hope it's not too late," she began, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"  
  
Severus stepped aside to let her in.  
  
"It is nice to see them all again," she said, "but it's hard, too."  
  
Severus nodded, gesturing for her to sit in an armchair by the fire. He knew she wasn't one to engage in small talk, either. Particularly with people she hadn't seen in a long time. People's interests and attitudes changed, or didn't have much with one in common, which didn't make it easier. Hermione produced a bottle of red wine from somewhere in her robes, holding it out for him.  
  
He took it, and studied its minimalist label briefly. "A good vintage." With a flick of his wand, he summoned two bulbous, long-stemmed glasses and a corkscrew. He uncorked the bottle in a practised manner, swift movement and nice sound and all, sniffed the cork and poured himself a mouthful to taste. Severus smiled in appreciation. The wine was soft on his tongue, fruity, not too light. Perfect. Then he poured each of them a glass, and they sat, enjoying the drink in silence.  
  
"We should have done this earlier," he said eventually.  
  
"Absolutely." Hermione smiled warmly at him.  
  
__ 


	3. Three: Valentines

Disclaimer: Ms Rowling owns it all, I just borrow without meaning any harm.  
  
Response to the Getting to Know You Challenge on WIKTT. Vignette 3: Valentines. One of our two like-birds sends a valentine and the other feels guilty because they forgot. Required item: a handkerchief. Required phrase: "A black rose seems a trifle incongruous, doesn't it?"  
  
  
  
Snow on Our Skin  
  
By Claudia  
  
Three  
  
Valentines  
  
Hermione had never been a fan of Valentine's day, and still wasn't, and would probably never be. If she wanted to tell her sweetheart that she loved him, and friends what they meant to her, she would do it when she pleased, not because a commercial holiday dictated she do so in the middle of February. It hadn't helped, of course, that for seven years she had had to endure the day in all its red and pink glory in a castle filled to the brim with raging hormones. Not that she was bitter because she had never received many valentines. Not that she didn't have any feelings; she just wished to express them when she deemed it fit. Most of all, she wished to express those feelings by personal tokens and gifts, not by chocolates or heart-shaped cards everyone got. She found that a person special to her deserved a special appreciation. And she wished to be treated just the same way by that special person. Not that there was anybody special at the moment.  
  
Of course, there were a couple of valentines in her mail that day, the usual brief notes from Dean and Neville, which made her smile despite herself, and a card from Luna who had squeezed a tongue-in-cheek, no doubt made-up conspiracy theory into her card. She knew what Hermione thought of Valentine's day, and she had a hard time recovering from her friend's hilarious story.  
  
Hermione put them up on the counter that separated the kitchen-area from the dining-area, and finished her tea. She had nothing special planned for the day. Today was Saturday, and she had decided not to do any work at the Ministry undisturbed, but to stay in and read for pleasure or go out and see a film or visit a museum. Or maybe not go to the cinema - too many couples were likely to have just the same idea, and it didn't sound appealing to her to have more snogging people surround her in the cinema than usual.  
  
Or maybe, their hormones were still in hibernation, for it had snowed heavily and constantly since the eve of the previous day, and still grey clouds were pouring forth their wealth. Hermione smiled. This kind of weather made her remember the reunion fondly. Severus and her had spent most of the time snugly in his quarters, discussing things and sharing meals, surrounded by books and parchments. It had been a wonderful, relaxing couple of days, and she was very sad upon leaving in January, because it meant-  
  
Well, it did not mean that she was in love with him. That she certainly wasn't. But he was a great best friend, because he was more than that - a kindred soul. And she hated the thought of having to resort to written conversation with him now. His latest letter was on her desk, sitting there for her to be answered. She went to her study, which would have made a great studio for an artist like Dean - but he already had found the studio of his dreams. Snow was covering the conservatory part of it, dimming the light in a bluish fashion. Crookshanks lay curled up in her chair, as if in guard of the precious letter.  
  
Hermione put on some Muggle music. The DVD player was one of the few electrical gadgets she kept, next to a TV set - the better to indulge in her passion for the pictures. Then she sat in her chair, scooping up Crookshanks and settling him in her lap. She picked up the letter and read through it once again. Severus had brought up some interesting and delicate points that needed careful consideration, a little research even, and she always made it a point to answer him diligently.  
  
Just then, an owl settled on the perch she had installed for just that purpose outside her window. Hermione caught its movements from the corner of her eye, and rose instantly to open the window for the animal. Crookshanks, miffed at the hectic of the day, settled on the rug in front of the fireplace in the living room.  
  
The owl, freezing, but relieved by a heart-warming owl treat, hopped in to deliver her burden. It settled on a perch to wait for her reply. "Poor thing, sending you in this kind of weather," Hermione muttered, providing her with warm water. Then she untied the longish parcel and card from its leg. As soon as the ribbon was untied, the shrinking spell was broken, and the parcel enlarged to itself to its original size in Hermione's hands.  
  
Curious who would send her an obvious valentine such as this, she put it on the desk and opened it. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper, there lay a single, long-stemmed black rose.  
  
Hermione did not know whether she should laugh or succumb to butterflies. The card was blank except for a signature.  
  
Severus' signature.  
  
She knew at once that it was forged.  
  
Severus had never before sent her a valentine, and despite their bonding at the beginning of this year, a black rose was entirely unwarranted.  
  
Or had she been blind? Had there been obvious displays of his intentions towards her and she hadn't noticed them?  
  
She went straight to her fireplace, disturbing Crookshanks yet again as she reached for the tin that held her Floo powder. But, alas, she hadn't yet rekindled the fire. She grabbed the poker to search for any dying embers in the ashes, but the fire had completely exhausted itself. Sighing, she cleaned the cold hearth and prepared a new fire with two flicks of her wand. Finally, she threw the Floo powder into the flames which turned into a sparkling green.  
  
"Severus Snape," she commanded.  
  
"At your service," came the rather prompt reply.  
  
"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" she asked as she looked into his living room. Flames were licking around her ears and sparks got seemingly tangled in her hair. She looks lovely, Severus thought.  
  
"Not at all. I'd ask you to step through the fire and join me for a cup of tea," he suggested, apparently delighted at her unexpected call. Or was she reading too much into this, and he was just being as civil as he used to be before-  
  
Now, Granger, she scolded herself. The signature is forged.  
  
"Why don't you join me? I've got fresh croissants," she offered. She didn't have any - yet. And she felt horrible for tempting him thus.  
  
"Very well," came the prompt reply.  
  
She was surprised. "Oh, great." She hadn't expected this at all.  
  
When he had dusted off his frock coat - he must have put it on before taking the Floo to her, for he had answered her call in shirt sleeves. The moment of his arrival felt awkward to Hermione. There was the urge to kiss him amicably on the cheek, but she was afraid and uncertain enough and desisted in mid-movement.  
  
"Are you all right?" Severus asked her.  
  
Wordless, she gestured for her study where he would find the box with the rose and offending card, while she herself retreated to the kitchen to at least get him a mug of tea. She returned with it in hand to his side in her study.  
  
Accepting the steaming mug, Severus said: "A black rose seems a trifle incongruous, doesn't it?"  
  
Hermione nodded, gesturing at the card. Severus picked it up, looked at it and flipped it on the desk with a snort. "You don't really believe I sent you this?" he asked, a bit too snarky for Hermione's taste, but she resolved not to take it personal.  
  
"Never," she said, seeing the humour in it, now that her confusion had melted off her. She smiled.  
  
"I don't know what to tell Albus anymore," Severus said, sitting down in Hermione's chair. Suddenly, he seemed very tired, and older than he was. Why would this demand so much of him?  
  
"Are you all right, Severus?" Hermione, serious again, asked.  
  
He nodded. "Albus won't accept that we're not in love with each other." He looked at her hard. "We aren't, are we?"  
  
"We aren't," Hermione replied sincerely, relieved that that was cleared up between them. It was amazing what you could make of things when looked from a different angle. But being in love with Snape? No. Never. He was older than her father. And he certainly had someone waiting for him, wanting him to spend the day with him, instead of eating absent croissants with her.  
  
"Good."  
  
Hermione busied herself by wrapping the offending rose up again, and putting a shrinking spell on it. Severus dipped a quill into the inkwell and wrote something on the card. He held it out for Hermione to see, and in his own penmanship he had added "I don't think so, Albus." The ink glistened in the pale wintry light. They sent the owl off again, together with the valentine.  
  
"I'm sorry I don't have any croissants for you - yet, but I can and get some if-"  
  
"I'll get them," Severus interrupted her, "and they're my valentine for the best friend I have."  
  
Hermione blushed. He had never told her about his feelings regarding their friendship before, and it came quite unexpected now. Eventually, she managed a smile.  
  
A quarter of an hour later, Severus returned with the promised croissants. Surprisingly enough, they were still warm, whereas he ran his handkerchief across his snowflake-mottled brow. "You should have put an insulation spell on yourself, too," Hermione said, passing him a new mug of hot tea.  
  
This 14 February was not so bad after all, Hermione thought, as they dismissed Albus' scheming and began to discuss the topics Severus had brought up in his latest letter.  
  
__ 


End file.
